The Release
by MegiieSue
Summary: Alex Mason wasn't good with people, women were no exception. When relations with his family go sour he begins to become more mentally vulnerable than he could imagine.   Alright so no one has made any stories about Alex so let's see how this turns out!
1. Prologue: Its been a year

January 3rd, '61

He couldn't remember the last time he had been in this town let alone visited his parents. It was easy to shove aside one's personal ties when in this line of work, but the way Mason did it was not a way to be admired. He had a way of personally insulting someone by ignoring all attempts of communication which led to less than desirable outcomes. It wasn't that he had forgotten them, but rather that he found it easier to act as if they didn't exist. The last time he spent the holidays with them was probably the winter of fifty nine. It was only two years ago, but that made all the difference. At least he returned his parents calls then.

To be honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure what he was doing there today. Maybe it was that a sudden feeling of guilt manifested after realizing how alone he had been in the past year. Listening to the resolutions and holiday stories of his coworkers only brought about his memories of when he used to associate himself with his family. Stories of wives, girlfriends, and children, all seemed to put him in a state of shock. It hadn't been the first holidays spent alone, but back then he felt a little less in general. Looking back he still wasn't quite sure why he had grown apart.

Alex wasn't one to enjoy sharing feelings or emotions, therefore pleasant memories were the ones he lacked. It wasn't that he was a cold person, just that he enjoyed submersing himself in his own existence that didn't include particularly caring for other's. He was young with his own life and a job that seemed to swallow up even the most family orientated lives of many men and women. That had become his excuse for cutting off. Through his mind it seemed like a suitable alternative to being close with his family and then having him be lost to his line of work which was extremely possible.

It had recently come to his knowledge that soon he was to carry out a top secret mission in Cuba. He hadn't been fully briefed on the mission, but only given advice to enjoy the holidays while they last. To him that was a translation to it could be your last. He had known there had been some worry about the communism take over but he failed to question what the purpose of the mission was. It was not his job to question the purpose. But if he by chance did not return, he'd hope to leave his personal life on a positive note.

That January morning was particularly cold. The kind of cold that could leave you frostbitten if not prepared. It was Alaska's welcome home gift, not one that was unfamiliar to him. Having grown up in the heart of the state so close to the Antarctic, freezing your ass off becomes second nature. It was considered a warm day for it to be above 30 at this time of year. Still, the snow always served as somewhat of an annoyance. Especially in traffic.

He had arrived on an early flight that morning from Washington D.C. and arrived in the small airport of Fairbanks, Alaska. He hadn't planned to stay long, a week at the most. The agency had been rather lenient on breaks given the season and the coming mission. It was important for the men to see their families, although it had come to be the least of Mason's worries.

Once he arrived at his parents house on the familiar street of his childhood, it struck him only then that he wasn't sure of the reaction he'd get from his family. Whether or not they would be thrilled or enraged at the fact that he hadn't visited in a year was a mystery. His mother he had figured out, she should welcome him with open arms. But she was not the one he was worried about. His father had a tendency to hold a grudge, a trait that he later inherited. The thought of having to deal with the same stare he would receive as a teen caused him to rub his temple in shame.

So here he was, at the door to his childhood home. The snow was still falling and the air was as dry and cold as he remembered it. By instinct he shoved his hands into his coat pockets to take a moment to reassess the situation. But it didn't take long for his impulsive nature to kick in as he rang the doorbell within the moment. He still hadn't thought of what to say.

He breathed out a cloud of air formed by the chilled temperature. This whole situation had been an act on pure impulse. That was also trait of his that he wished could have been trained out of him. But it wasn't, and here he was greeting his family after more than a year. He probably should have sent a letter as a warning, but that would have taken too long. All these thoughts cluttered his mind at the moment bringing about a headache. That was when the door opened, and it was his mother.

She had still looked the way he remembered her. Old, but not too aged. Not the kind of age where your hair was grayed and your skin began to sag off your face to the point where you were unrecognizable. She was a young mother to begin with, and now she was only about fifty going on fifty one years old. Not yet had she grown frail, for she had always been a strong and healthy woman that one might think would forever be young. Her chocolate brown hair was faded with few visible gray hairs produced by the stress of both her years and her children's youth. She was not very wrinkled with only crows feat to outline her green eyes. The same green eyes she had passed on to Alex.

Her face was blank for a moment as she looked to her son which she had not yet realized was her son. After the silence came realization that lit her face up like a firework on the fourth of July. Not in a smile upon her lips, but a glow in her eyes,

"Alex?" She questioned although she already knew. He could have grown a beard with long hair and she could have still recognized her son. A heartfelt smile filled his face,

" Hey, Mom." She could have smiled for all he knew, but even the fastest of eyes could not have been able to see before she had wrapped her arms around her sons neck. She held him as close as her elder arms could allow her,

"My Alex! My Baby, where have you been! Why has it been so long? Are you safe? You didn't lose anything did you?" She frantically let go, lifting up his arm to inspect his hands and fingers as if the only reason he had come home was due to some freak accident.

"I'm fine, all limbs in tact." The smile never left his face, it wasn't that it was fake joy plastered on his lips but rather that he had to blow it up for his mother, "Works been busy as…" He caught his language before spoke, only pausing briefly to continue, "ever."

She released his hand, fixing her warm gaze back up to the face of her son. She stared in disbelief for a moment as her smile never ceased. She couldn't help but hug him with as much strength as before. He laughed,

"Alright, Ma, let's get inside. I don't want you to catch a cold." He peeled his mother's hands off of his neck, leading her into the two storied house. All the while she continued to stare in disbelief,

"Oh don't get me started on my health. The doctor's had nothing but bad news for me ever visit!" She complained, throwing her hands in the air as she spoke. He turned his head back to his mother, his smile having faded to a blank expression to display his somewhat concerned self,

"Are you alright?" He questioned,

" I'm not sure. You know doctors, always using fancy names to cover up the fact that they don't know a thing! I'm healthy as can be, you know your mother." When it came to health, Mrs. Mason had the same mentality towards doctor as any man. That they all had no better idea than you and that if you feel fine, you are fine.

Alex found his way into the living room already knowing the lay out of his former home. They hadn't moved a thing in 20 years, and that was the way he loved and remembered it. He found his way to the La Z Boy recliner and sat down, holding his hands behind his head. His mother came up behind him, leaning against the back with one hand on it's head,

"Can I get you anything, Alex?"

"If anything I should be getting you something." He motioned over to the couch, to which she complied and went over to sit. She tucked her skirt under her legs, sitting ever so daintily. It was so like her, he thought. She was always a healthy and mentally strong women, she had things figured out, he would say. But she was also caring and a loving mother. She would go great lengths to impress and be sure that what she was doing was proper.

He reclined on the couch like chair, closing his eyes as to relax. It came as a shock to him that he even had the ability after it being so long. Tense feelings seemed to be what he had in mind, yet here he was with his mother trying to spoil him. For a while, everything felt normal,

"So where's Dad? Still working?"

"He's retired, Mason."

"Right…"

"He's upstairs, I should probably go get him… but you know your father, who knows how happy he will be to see you." A pained expression filled her face as she stared at her son.

It was difficult for her to think about her husband being angry at her son whom she loved so much. To see them fighting was the worst thought of all; she could even say it was her worst nightmare. All she wanted at the moment was for her husband, Alex's father, to embrace him the same way she had. But even his wife of thirty years had a hard time predicting his reactions.

"I've already thought about it, I probably won't be staying long 'cause of it."

"Alex, you know that would only make it worse. He's only upset because you're never around anymore."

"I can't help that and you know that."

"But your father doesn't. He served in a time where you left for a few years and came home. You're gone all the time and we never know when or if you'll be home for good."

"Do you want me to go to war?"

"Goodness, No!" The shout came loud and unexpectedly. An unwanted frown formed from her creased eyebrows that seemed to alert Alex that he screwed up. Here he was home after a year and pissing off his old mother, his exact opposite goal, " Especially not in this never ending war. I just wish you would have some consistency. We love you, Alex, we just want to see you more."

"My life's never been consistent." Their conversation was silenced by the sound of footsteps descending down the stairs. Each creak echoing louder than the next. It caused Alex to snap back to sit up and turn around. All the while his mother sat on the couch with her hand over her mouth shaking her head. He continued to stare at the staircase that faced the opposite wall behind him. Feet were the only thing he could make out.

When the elder man reached the bottom of the stares, he turned to walk into the living room. The first thing he saw was the thing that caused him to pause. He stood still as he saw the head of his son turned around from the recliner. His eyes squinted, not out of anger but because of the fact that his eye sight hadn't been what it used to. Silence followed,

"Alex? That you?"

"Yeah dad, is that you? You got all old." This time his eyes squinted for a different reason as he made his way next to the recliner. He peered at him from under his thin rimmed glasses,

"You show yourself here after 3 years and all you do is insult me."

"It's only been a year." The old man mumbled what seemed to be a "whatever" under his breath, obviously not caring about the time,

"Might as well have been. What're you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come say hello to my wonderful family." He joked, smirking at his own smart comment,

"After a year."

"Yeah." He seemed to roll his eyes at his son, who quickly caught it but never said a word of it. The elder man walked over to take a seat next to his wife.

He appeared noticeably older than Alex's mother. Not that his skin was sagging, but that his formerly dark brown hair had almost completely faded into grayness. The glasses meant to perfect his eyesight only added to the image. Once taken a seat, he leaned over with his elbows on his knees. It seemed as though he were about to interrogate him,

" So you've been too busy with this goddamn war that we've lost to come around once in a fucking blue moon?" His wife slapped him hard on the back, to which he groaned and sat back up,

"Ben!" He grumbled an insincere apology before Alex had a chance to respond,

" I have other duties. I don't have time to stop by every Saturday like you want. Hell, I live in another state."

"I know Alaska is out of the way for your work, but it's been a year Alex!"

"I can't help that."

His dad peered at him from across the room, leaning back wrapping his arm around the back of the couch. It crossed around his angered wife, and she glared at him from the corner of her eye. It had been forever since she had seen her son and here he was trying to scare him away,

"Did you hear about Marion having her baby? It was a boy you know."

"No."

"Of course you wouldn't, you don't hear anything anymore because you're never around."

"Ben!"

"Darleen, quiet." Alex was too busy shaking his head trying to sustain from becoming frustrated. This all had been a mistake after all. A blue vein seemed to be visible from his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple,

"She said that she couldn't wait for him to meet his uncle Alex, the hero. You know what I said? Fat chance."

"You know what, this was a mistake." He got up to leave, to which his mother stood in protest,

"Alex, wait."

"It's fine, Darleen, let him go."

He made his way to the door, taking his coat off the peg and slipping one arm inside,

" Come back later, Alex, I'll have him calm by then." He gave a sarcastic laugh under his breath as he finished putting on his coat. He yelled out behind him as he left the house,

" Happy New Years, Ma."

"You too, sweetheart." She yelled out behind him.

Once he was out of hearing range and had left the house, she turned to her husband who leaned against the door frame. He looked at her, and she glared at him. How could he do this? She threw her hands in the hair and let out an angry groan as she whipped around and stormed out of the room.


	2. Hard Life

He probably should have been back at headquarters, re-evaluating the important mission that was to take place in a few months. It was instead suggested that he return home for a last time, for it was unknown when he would last be visiting his hometown and family or if he'd even be returning at all. It was a life he picked, and it suited him nicely.

His visit to his father's ended in a disaster of awkward and strained feelings. It had been many months, maybe even a year he didn't know, since he last visited his parents. As he entered the door, he was hardly greeted with open arms. Only bombarded with questions and, although they had missed him, threats of disowning him if he wouldn't come around more often.. If things were going to be like that, he'd had rather just left on the spot. Which is exactly what he did.

It was the freezing breeze of a winter's day that would seem warm to the stone skinned Alex Mason. He stood outside Charlie's Pub in his brown winter's coat smoking his last cigarette. He thought it polite to spare the people inside from the rancid smell of smoke, although other's didn't seem to feel the same once they pulled out and finished multiple in one visit to the bar. The winter's must had hardened him, for he did not shiver once, only staring blankly into tire tracks in the muddied snow covered streets. Brown mush which was formerly snow was piled on the sides of the road, giving the feel of the city first hand to passerby's.

Once he finished, he threw the remains of his smoke to the ground, stepping on it before entering the bar. He was instantly greeted with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Each step, he felt his feet stuck to the floor from obvious spills of the sticky liquids. On the farther right wall a bar counter stuck out of the wall. Two elder looking men already sat on the stools stationed closely to the bar. Both seemed to eye the two ladies working as bartenders, scanning their bodies like the perverts they obvious were.

Even Mason wasn't oblivious to the temptations of women, no amount of mental toughness can train a man's instinct out of him. Both seemed in their mid 20's, slender with one a blonde and the other a very dark almost black brunette. He paid next to no mind, however, as he took a seat at one of the stools which were nailed to the floor. Within moments he was being served by the young brunette.

"What can I get you?"

"A beer, or whatever you got." He spoke without lifting his gaze off the wooden counter top. Within moments the woman returned with a mug full of the thick liquid, she placed it in front of him. Half of the rather large mug was downed within the first moments it arrived. She stared at him with one eyebrow cocked, she began to fill another,

"Hard day, Hun?"

"Hard life."

"Tell me about it." A look was soon shot her way by Mason, one that said "You don't know what you're talking about."

" I hope you don't plan on driving after this, just last week we let a man stroll out of here and soon enough he was on the news later having died in a car accident. I don't think I could live with myself with any more of those on my conscious."

" Wouldn't be much of a loss." He seemed to murmur under his breath that it also wouldn't be the first time he'd have the dead on his conscious. It didn't bother him, not until he arrived in heaven to have St. Peter judge him with those lists of names,

" Now now. We can't all have that way of thinking, I'm sure you have a lovely wife you ought to be getting home to." He gave a sarcastic laugh,

"I'm not one to settle down."

"What a coincidence, neither am I." For a moment their eyes locked on one another's, his green contrasting with her grey blue orbs. She smirked, before turning away to start wiping the counter with a rag,

"What's your age, sweetheart?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to ask a lady for their age?"

"Can I at least have a name?" She continued to smirk as she lifted her gaze back up to meet his, much to his amusement,

"Clara. And I'm twenty four." Her dark hair, fashioned into a 60's flip, bounced as she finished scrubbing the counter. She stopped for a moment to offer a hand out. Feeling compliant, he shook it, " Mason, Alex Mason."

Again, their eyes met. It was unlike her to lose her cool under situations with men, especially having grown use to the lazy drunks that hit on her every work hour, but suddenly she felt the warm blood rush to her cheeks. Maybe it was the fact that she finally noticed how very deep his… lovely green eyes were. Oh there she went again with the thoughts. What was it about him? To avoid him catching her pink flushed cheeks, she drew her hand back and looked away, pretending to occupy her hands with an unknown task.

Mason lifted his eyebrows at her, squinting his eyes as if he liked what he saw. She was far from ugly, and to say anything he was tempted by her. Her slick dark hair came past her shoulders to flip at the ends. Her banks were swooped in a fashion that was started in the 60s, but seemed all the more beautiful on her. But he was not after any sort of relationship, so the thought of her quickly fled his mind,

"You from around here?"

"Born and raised in Nome. Don't ask how I ended up here, I just did." She looked back up at him, "You seem like the suspicious type, how'd you end up here?" He gave a devilish grin,

"Why would you say that?"

"Come on, it doesn't take x-ray vision to see those scars down your arms." She mocked as she leaned in to shift his sleeve off his arm. Without thinking, he violently grabbed her wrist with his opposite hand by pure instinct as to protect himself. Her face turned to, not horror, but a mix of confusion and angry shock. He quickly let go, apologizing, " Like I said, suspicious." It was obvious that she was little bothered by the short incident, it was almost as if she somehow understood the instinct. Her father exhibited the same behavior occasionally. The hardened man shrugged it off. It would have been normal to have been somewhat embarrassed but he wouldn't let it show,

"Sorry. Anyways I was raised here in this goddamn ice town, trust me when I say that you're gonna meet a hell of a lot more shady guys than me." She cocked a suspecting eyebrow at him,

" You don't have to tell me twice. I've worked here long enough to know this city's type."

The woman leaned over the counter, positioning herself closer to him so that her projectile voice could not be heard so easily over the noise of the bar. Placing her elbows on the counter, she pointed to the distance to which the man's eyes followed the trail. It ended on a rather large old man with a long grayed beard that resembled that of the Christmas character Santa Claus. That was about all you could see of the man, for it appeared that he had passed out as he laid on the table. Mason couldn't help but let out a cold laugh of pity at the sad figure before the woman had a chance to speak,

"That old geezer comes in here every Wednesday every week. Since I've worked here. He gets the same damn think and I swear he's tried to hit on me every fucking time I serve him. He gets piss drunk, then we have to get ol'Larry over here to lug the old man out of the bar." She pointed her thumb to her right. On the wall leaned another rather large man who must have been the security,

"Lots of men get drunk every day. Honestly he's not that abnormal."

"Oh, Really?"

To that she directed her index finger to another equally as strange figure. This time, it was a woman. Appearing to be in her latter 40's, she was short and stubby with short ratted blonde hair. One could describe her as butch with the way her face resembled that of a pit-bull terrier. The way her eyes seemed to frantically scan the bar seemed to give away that she was either extremely confused or ready to start a rather unneeded fight,

"The poor lady has come in here probably once every two or three weeks for the past year, always asking if we've seen Herbert. God knows who the fool is, but from how it looks he must have had the right idea leaving the lady. A couple screws are loose in her head."

She was ready to point to the next humorous character when the agent forced her hand down,

"Alright, we get it." She gave a satisfied look at him as if to prove that she was right, "You seem to know everyone's story so well, how about your own?" The well plastered smirk seemed to disappear from the woman's face as a less amused one took form. It wasn't that she had a bad past, but she just preferred to talk about one's more interesting than hers,

"As I said, I'm from Nome. I too was raised in this godforsaken Iceland so I'm used to the cold. I have two sisters and a father who is a war Vet. He's an old stubborn idiot, but I love him to death. That's about all I have anymore."

"No boyfriend? A cute trick like you I would've thought had a couple under her belt." A pale pink glow appeared to her cheeks and she wasn't sure why. Many men compliment her on a daily bases, sure they were drunk and she never took them seriously, but for some reason coming from this man it was different. He was different and she could tell. But she wouldn't let him see her flattery,

"And I wonder why I'm wasting my time on you, if you're just gonna keep hitting on me that makes you no better than any other brute who walks in here on a Wednesday evening." The rude comment caused Alex to slowly shift his gaze back to his half full mug. He felt like an idiot after realizing what he just said, and the embarrassment further made him realize why he never got involved with woman, " Now don't go all shy on me now, I'm used to the chauvinistic pig type." She paused, " Not that you're a chauvinistic pig or anything."

"Thanks." The words came in a voice that was all but sincere. He was bothered and had returned to his normal self submersed in thought. He took another gulp from his mug,

" Really. Besides that comment, I think you're…" It started to come off as a little too personal for having just met him. She attempted to rephrase her comment, " Listen, I wouldn't still be talking to you if I thought you were the same as any of these bastards here."

" I appreciate you trying to be the polite one, but I get that a lot from women like you."

"Women like me?" She turned her head to shoot him a look as she spoke, her body still cocked to the side, cleaning something on the opposite counter, "Oh please, like you military men have room to judge. All you do is direct your gawking eyes at the next hot..."

"Wait, how did you know…?"

"You thought I didn't notice the way you grabbed me? Sweetheart, my father used to do the exact same thing, and he's an ex Marine." She brought a finger to her lip as she turned to inspect him more closely, "Is it the Army or the Marines for you?"

At that moment he couldn't tell whether he should be impressed or slightly annoyed by her so sure attitude. If anything annoyed him it was people like himself who acted like they knew more than they did. In order to avoid anymore backlashes from the Black Widow, he decided to play it off with a mere chuckle. He bobbed his head as he spoke,

"Since when do women know about the military?" His voice hardly displayed his minimal surprise. He lifted his head to look her in the eye once more, "I'm a Captain in the Marines."

She paused, for a moment their eyes met again. How she had come to dread it. Each time brought a different feeling to the pit of her stomach that instantly rushed to her head. It was hard to explain, and she couldn't quite tell if it was a pleasant feeling or not. Either way it was her wish that it would stop. She raised her eyebrows though, finally realizing what he had said,

"That's… impressive."

"Right."

"No really, it is." It was hard to tell from his voice if he was agreeing with her or if it was in a sarcastic tone. She tried her best to appear sincere with a smile that she plastered on her lips, " From what my father used to tell me, it seemed like one hell of a job. I'm not sure how you do it."

He couldn't help but stare into her eyes as well. They were an ice blue, if ice was that shade with such a depth that you could keep admiring them without any hope of unlocking her soul. For they do they that eyes are the doors to one's true intentions. He forced a smile, if you could even consider it a smile. But something in his head kept him level. Although he was one to act on impulse, which a woman surely provides many situations where that could end in disaster, he had grown accustomed to being alone. It was drilled into his head that he would forever be alone, and to not bother with the fairer species no matter how tempting they may be. He was far from a womanizer,

"Everything you've heard is probably true." He agreed. Why was he so tempted? The idea of this being the only time that he'd ever speak with her brought a feeling of desperation to him comparable to life or death. What the fuck was this? His fingered drummed on the counter next to his mug, " So you don't have a boyfriend, you live with your father, and you're stuck working at the town's bar. What's your plan from here?"

" I don't live with Dad, for one, and to be honest I can't see past tomorrow." Once again, her eyes found themselves wandering away for fear of meeting his again. It was a horrible habit, not making eye contact when she spoke. And although she was one to be sassy and blunt with self confidence, it was difficult for her to speak to most people looking them in the eye. Let alone this man,

" How about you let me take you out then? Tomorrow?" A surge of what felt like electricity sent her mind into a whirl as her eyes frantically searched for his again. Was he really trying to ask her on a date? She didn't even know him. The moment she found that her composure was breaking she calmed herself, giving an apathetic cocked eyebrow look to him,

"Are you asking my on a date, Alex?" It was the first time she had really used his name, and it caught him a little off guard. Was it too soon? She would question, then wonder why she cared in the first place,

"Does 8 sound good?"


End file.
